Bloodbath
by Kelsey
Summary: After the return of Angel's soul in "Orpheus," everything seems to return to normal. But what's going on in Angel's head, after Angelus' ruthless actions? Vignette.


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Bloodbath

by

Kelsey

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Disclaimer: Angel and BtVS characters are not mine. The story this vignette comes from is also not mine, it's an official ep. Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt own them. Good enough?

Author's Note: This was just crying out to be written. So, I wrote it in one sitting and beta-ed it myself. No flames about the editing, okay? Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Summary: After Angel's soul is restored in "Orpheus", everything seems to go back to normal. But what's going on inside his head?

Rating: PG/PG-13 for disturbing imagery.

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It seems like forever before he can get away from them, and he hates them for it. Fred, Gunn, Wes... they don't mean anything by it, but they don't understand. They were spared the reality of Angelus, as much as they would like to think otherwise. They weren't there as he hunted, slaughtered and killed for no reason other than because he thought it was _fun_. They weren't there as his actions agonized and terrorized Angel, who was unwillingly along for the ride and utterly unable to get away from the horror of his other self. They didn't understand.

And now that he's stepped out of them cage and said "I'm back," everyone expects everything to go back to the same. He does his best not to disappoint them. Because, in one way, he's more determined than ever, now. He has to earn back the world's trust for the way he bastardized it while he was Angelus. But in another way, the same way he always feels when he comes back from a visit to soulless-land, he just wants to curl up in a bright corner and wait for the sun to rise.

He settles for puking his guts out. Waits until everyone is so busy with something or another that they don't notice him dashing silently across the lobby and disappearing into the bathroom. Thanks to his vampire stealth, they don't notice anything at all until his stomach starts heaving, but by then he's locked the door, anticipating their reaction and not wanting to see their faces as he throws up what Angelus has been doing with his time, lately.

It seems like gallons and gallons of blood. Dark, thick, somewhat congealing, but not badly, because his body keeps it in a state that it can be used. Sees it in the sink where he's leaned over to keep it from staining everything in sight, sees the different hues of red across the sink, and heaves again. Keeps heaving until there's nothing left in his stomach, and longer. He can feel his stomach muscles rippling with effort as they attempt to empty more of the vile substance from his body, but with no luck. They only cramp and seize in the effort. He ignores the pain.

He thinks about the people Angelus killed to do this. And the ones he didn't kill. He is, as always, deeply disgusted with himself, but the person whose blood affects him the least, is actually Lilah's. Because she was already dead, but more because she was evil. Not in the truest sense of the word, perhaps, the way only demons are capable of being, but evil enough that she would have brought nothing but pain and suffering to the people Angel had sworn to protect. She is only a pang of slight regret on the scale in his mind.

Then, he muses, somewhere in that swirl of swill he's thrown up, is Faith's blood. He looks down at the deep red that still coats all the edges of the sink, almost as if he can see which blood belonged to who, but that's beyond even his abilities. 

He has said his apologies to her. She has forgiven him, and as much as he is as disgusted by this as anything else, it helps a little. Mostly, though, he is incredibly grateful to her, and guilty because she almost lost her own life, bringing him back to his. But he has strict orders from the girl herself that he is not to berate himself about this, so he forces his thoughts away from her.

Immediately, he wishes he hadn't, and then feels guilty for that. Angelus _killed_ people while he was out. It's pure fact. Indeed, mercifully few as opposed to the carnage he had strewn around Sunnydale for those months he was free there, but he had still taken innocent's lives. And though it sickens him to think about what his alter ego did, he feels guilty for wishing he didn't have to. Because those people _deserve_ to be remembered, and deserve to be remembered by him most of all. After all, he carries that monster inside of him, and no matter what anybody else says, Angelus is his responsibility, and his responsibility alone.

Three faces look up at him from his photographic memory, and he shudders while his stomach tries to revolt once more. Finally, it's gotten the message that there's nothing left to eject, though, and now he just feels more nauseous than he thinks he ever has. Because the faces are so innocent, so gentle, and the emotional wounds so new and raw. Because these are the children Angelus killed.

He remembers the shopkeeper and others, with no less remorse, but these are the deaths that pull on his heartstrings. These are the ones that make him want to greet the sun, despite knowing that he'll never be redeemed if he just gives up. These are the ones that make him feel like there is truly nothing worse on this earth than he and his kind.

First, there's a little girl, blond with blue eyes. She's about six or seven, and she's lost in a mall. Angelus has always had a weakness for young girls about her age, and despite the fact that he was in a hurry, he hadn't been able to resist. Under the guise of helping her find her mother, he lures her into a back corner, clamps his hand across her face and drinks her blood, and Angel remembers how wonderful it tastes, so pure and clean, and it makes him gag again.

Then there's a boy with shaggy brown hair, fifteen or sixteen, limbs long and gangly. He's walking home alone in what's known as a fairly safe neighborhood, and doesn't really worry when Angelus sidles up alongside him. Doesn't really worry when the vampire walks beside him for a block, doesn't really worry when he walks off the sidewalk into a nice, dark corner. Doesn't worry until the vampire's arm shoots out, almost faster than the human eye can see, and pulls him in with him. This one he drinks slower than the girl, savoring the sensation. In his mind, Angelus is getting revenge on Connor. Of course, it's not nearly as good as the real thing, but it's enough. The boy's blood is less pure than the girl's, but now it has a sexual edge of hormones and previous lusts that give it a taste all its own.

The last face is one that sticks with him the most. Angel will never forget, and apparently Angelus hasn't, either. Because in Sunnydale, when he was let loose, the first people he killed was every blond teenage girl he set his eyes on. For nearly a week, police thought he was a serial killer, but then he broke his pattern and they were clueless again. Now, here in LA, his soulless self stills wants revenge on Buffy, apparently.

He was more careful picking a victim this time, because he was on a mission. Didn't have time to eat every blond girl he came across, so he waited and watched until he found one that looked enough like her to sate his anger for the moment. Blond hair to her shoulders, mostly straight but with a gentle wave at the ends. Petite and small, tiny all over. When he grabbed her, he could barely feel her struggle, she was so small, so he loosened his grip a little. He was enacting killing Buffy after all, the Slayer wouldn't be so easy to take down.

Just the same, she had no chance to get away. He made sure of that. When he drank her, he barely tasted her blood, only the anger and swelling need for revenge that the thought of the Sunnydale Slayer brought to him. Angel almost wishes he could remember what the blood of the girl tasted like, because then maybe it would feel less like killing Buffy. Because he _does_ remember what her blood tastes like, will remember it until the day he dies, he is sure.

But she wants him to go one fighting, he reminds himself. Buffy wants him to fight, she's told him so more than enough times. Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn, Faith, Willow. They all want him to keep fighting. Don't take the easy way out, they've told him, and he believes them when they say it's what's best, no matter how hard it is. But it is, it is so hard, it rips his guts to pieces with agony and despair and it's a constant struggle to stay true to himself every day. 

Because Angel is a monster, and sometimes his friends forget that. And a monster, no matter how much its own actions disgust it, is still a monster. Just because Angel feels sick every time he thinks about killing those children doesn't make him wish he had the blood he just threw up in his belly again any less. 

And he wants to lick his hands.

As soon as this thought forms, he grabs the handles of the faucet and turns it on hot, as hot and hard as it will go. Frantically, he rinses out the sink and scrubs his hands with soap until no visible trace of the blood survives. They still smell like blood, though, so he grabs Cordy's perfume from the edge of the counter and sprays his hands. 

His mouth still tastes like blood, so he rinses it out, again and again. Bites the soap bar, then rinses it again. He can still taste it in the back of his throat, but realizes that's all he's going to be able to get out. He sinks down the wall where he's leaning, and clasps his knees with his arms, buries his head.

And Angelus, the most powerful vampire in the world, screams in the back of his head while Angel cries for all the terrible things he's done and all the innocent people he's killed.

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